


The Baronet's Bride

by songsofgallifrey



Series: Roleplay Series [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Crimson Peak references, F/M, Light Bondage, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, don't worry there isn't any poisoning or incest, or ghosts, tom hiddleston as thomas sharpe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 05:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15112844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsofgallifrey/pseuds/songsofgallifrey
Summary: Your boyfriend Tom Hiddleston has another trick up his sleeve for his birthday, and you're totally in the dark, until he leaves notes around signed as Thomas and a Victorian style dress for you to wear.





	The Baronet's Bride

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read on its own, but it was written as part 2 to my story Dream Come True, so go read that first if you want to read about Tom roleplaying as Loki. I've linked it in the beginning of this story.

Tom had another trick up his sleeve again and you were totally in the dark.

Honestly it was a perk to dating an actor of Tom's caliber - he had a flair for the dramatic that kept you on your toes and a penchant for the romantic that made you weak at the knees. The last time he surprised you more than three months ago, [you had lived out your fantasy of being ravished by the God of Mischief himself.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895554) This time, you had no idea what he was planning and it had him bouncing in his seat in the car like an overexcited puppy for the four-hour trip to the middle of nowhere. No matter how much you begged, pleaded, or bribed him, he wouldn't budge. It was his birthday tomorrow, he insisted, and you would not ruin the surprise he took months planning for you.

When you had arrived at a quaint looking bed and breakfast somewhere you might expect hobbits or fairies to live, you were still clueless. Tom effortlessly carried your luggage inside and, since it was well past sunset and you were exhausted, the two of you went to bed, Tom still wearing a ridiculously devious grin until he fell asleep.

The next morning when you awoke, Tom was already gone, you assumed for his daily run. It was his birthday, after all, and he could start it however he wanted - though you  _ had _ had other ideas for how to start his day. You rolled over and saw that he had left a note on his pillow that read, 

_ Gone for a run. Breakfast is on the table. Your dress is hanging on the closet door. Be ready by 11. I'll tell you everything when you get here. I miss you already. _

_ X Thomas  _

You frowned at the paper, confused. Since when did he call himself “Thomas”? A dress? “When you get here”? You sighed. It felt like there was something you should have figured out already, but there was no point in guessing, so you may as well just go with it.

You looked to the table in front of the window across the room, a little breakfast nook with two seats, and saw the tray of muffins and fruit with an electric kettle in the middle, no doubt full of hot coffee. As promised, there was a beautiful Victorian style dress hanging from a hook on the closet door to the left of the table. Stunned, you put the note aside and rose from the bed to get a closer look at it. 

Upon closer inspection of the dress, you almost didn't want to touch it, as it looked every bit like it was made in the late 19th century and it was so beautifully fabricated that you were slightly afraid you would ruin it by putting it on. You felt the fabric between your fingers with a sigh. It was luxuriously soft, like velvet, the color a rich, vibrant red with black filigree stitched on the outer layer and black ruffles sewn on the borders. The inner skirt was made of silk the same color red as the velvet, lined with black tulle. The front came up slightly higher than the back, which had a short train made of the velvet material. The bodice was a continuation of the red velvet skirt, laced in the front with black ribbon and the red silk underneath. It had a modest but comfortable neckline that came up to the collarbone. Coming out from the sides were beautiful bell sleeves, slit up to the elbow, and dangling from a temporary thread was a pair of silky black gloves. Your eyes went down to where the skirt hit the floor and you gasped when you saw the elegant black boots that went with the dress. 

_ How in the world did he hide this from me? _

You glanced at the clock - 9:55. You had an hour to eat and shower before whatever surprise Tom had waiting would happen, so you scarfed down a blueberry muffin, washed it down with some coffee, and took the quickest shower you could. When you got out of the bathroom, rubbing your wet hair with a towel, it was 10:20. 

Cursing yourself for taking so long, you slid on the dress a layer at a time, grateful that it laced in the front and not the back. You were not about to wear a corset, but you laced the bodice tightly and tied it into a neat bow. You put on a pair of black fishnet stockings you had brought and slid the boots on, stopping for a moment to admire your reflection in the full length mirror while your hair curler was heating up. The red color looked amazing on you, bringing out the natural blush in your cheeks and accenting the curves of your hips. Tom really had a great idea of what looked good on you.

After you curled your hair and pinned it up on your head in a stylish bun, it was 10:50. Before you could feel nervous about what was coming next, you heard the unmistakable sound of hooves outside, and you rushed to the window to see a horse-drawn carriage out front with a young attendant waving at you. You shook your head in disbelief. 

Once you got outside, the driver tipped his hat to you. “Are you Miss (Y/N)?” he asked, squinting in the bright sun. You nodded, and he gestured to the attendant, who opened the carriage door for you and held out his hand to help you up. “Sir Thomas is waiting for you. We're here to take you to him, if that's alright with you. He left a note for you inside.”

_ Of course this is his doing. So theatrical, so romantic. _

You sighed and let the attendant help you into the lavishly decorated carriage. On the padded bench seat next to you was another note, in Tom's cramped and loopy handwriting.

_ Dearest (Y/N), _

_ These two fine gentlemen will take you where you need to go. The Baronet is waiting patiently for your arrival, as you are his new bride. I'm sure he won't disappoint. _

Your heart skipped a beat as you read over the title thrown so casually into the note. The attendant closed the door and the carriage lurched forward, quickly picking up speed. Tom knew one of your favorite of his movies was Crimson Peak. “The Baronet” could only mean one thing, you realized, a smile spreading across your face. Tom was setting the scene, giving you your role for the day as Mrs. Thomas Sharpe. 

………………….

The trip through the countryside was short, but since there were no windows in the carriage (no doubt Tom's meticulous planning to ensure nothing spoiled his surprise) you didn't know where you were headed. Not even the driver would tell you. “I'm sworn to secrecy, madam,” he told you politely but firmly through the carriage wall. “Sir Thomas was adamant that we kept the destination a surprise.” At least the weather was cool enough that having no windows didn’t mean suffocating in the heat of the carriage.

You supposed about half an hour had passed when the carriage finally ground to a halt and the attendant opened the door. You took his hand and stepped down onto the gravel, smoothing your dress down before looking up to see if Tom was there. What you saw made your heart race and your chest feel tight. 

It was as though you had been plucked from reality and placed into the world of Crimson Peak. You had arrived at a large manor somewhere in the countryside, its architecture a Gothic flavored mix of centuries-old proletarian design with Victorian details, the whole place painted black and red. Black wrought-iron fencing surrounded the property and there was a rather large pond with a weeping willow next to it. And standing at the arched doorway, waiting for you with his hands clasped politely in front of him, was the reincarnation of - you felt - Guillermo del Toro’s greatest creation, Sir Thomas Sharpe. 

Thomas (as he was no longer Tom, just as you were no longer you) was impeccably dressed in a tailored white high-necked shirt and black trousers, with a waistcoat and bowtie in a silky ivory color and a black formal tailcoat that came down to his knees in the back. His black hair was slicked back up top to let his curls brush the back of his neck. Spotless white gloves topped off the look perfectly. In your head you pictured this Thomas surrounded by a crowd of people watching him demonstrate the waltz, and your heart fluttered in your chest. He was  _ perfect.  _ Your handsome English gentleman. 

Thomas waved and walked toward you, his shiny leather boots crunching on the gravel. “Lady (Y/N), my darling,” he called to you. “It’s an honor to see you again. I trust your trip went well.” When he reached you he took your gloved hand in his and kissed it. “As wife to a Baronet you deserve no less than the best.” He raised his eyebrows at you as if to ask whether you understood your part. 

You smiled and bowed your head briefly. “My trip was uneventful, Sir Sharpe, I thank you for your concern.” Thomas’ eyes softened and he cupped your cheek in his hand, leaning down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the carriage pulling away from the manor. You sighed peacefully into the kiss, still smiling when he pulled away. “I am very happy to be here,” you said genuinely. You decided to test his improv skills and find out where on Thomas’ timeline you were. “Is your sister here too?”

Thomas didn't miss a beat. “Unfortunately they wouldn't let her leave the asylum for the wedding, and she has tragically passed away,” he said, with the air of a man who has finally rid himself of the boulder chained to his waist all his life. “So we don't have to concern ourselves with her anymore. The family home belongs to me now.” He grinned widely, turning to gesture to the impressive manor behind him. “To us.”

_ He is good. _

“It's beautiful. I would love to see how it looks on the inside.” 

Thomas bowed deeply. “As you wish, my bride. Allow me.” Without warning he bent down and lifted you up beneath your knees, one hand on your back, laughing at your squeal of surprise, and carried you bridal style through the doorway into the grandest foyer you had ever seen in person. 

High vaulted ceilings with ornate arches decorated the entryway, and you could see a grand staircase that sloped up at least thirty feet to the second floor of the building. A fireplace that was at least ten feet across and six feet high boasted an impressively sized portrait of the grounds above the mantle, and inside a warm fire was crackling. Lush furniture, priceless tapestries and paintings, crystal chandeliers - it was everything you had imagined a Victorian aristocrat’s home would look like. Thomas set you on your feet and kissed you again, his hand cradling the back of your neck. When he pulled back his eyes were glinting with the promise of many surprises to come.

“I have a picnic prepared so we can take our lunch by the lake, if you would like.” He gestured widely to his right, toward a large swinging door that you presumed led to a massive kitchen. “It’s a bit cold outside but it’s starting to warm up now that it’s after noon.”

“I would love that,” you breathed, hardly able to believe this was really happening. You waited for Thomas in the foyer and he returned with a large basket on his arm. 

The two of you walked slowly toward the lake, chatting idly about the house. Thomas recited its history as though he had told the story a hundred times. Once you reached the lake he removed his tailcoat and spread it out on the ground for you to sit on, and helped you down since you were unused to the fit of your dress. You kept looking to Thomas to make sure he wasn’t too cold without his tailcoat, but he had a runner’s metabolism and was nearly always warm.

Forgetting for a moment that you were playing the role of a turn-of-the-century upper-class American woman, you leaned back on your elbows and stretched your legs out comfortably on the coat. Your dress had ridden up to your knees when you did so, and when you looked out of the corner of your eye at Thomas he was gazing at your fishnet stocking-covered legs with heat in his eyes. They were Tom’s favorite of your accessories - which is exactly why you wore them today, even though they didn’t go with the period style of the dress, and even though it was in the middle of winter and it was quite chilly outside.

“See something you like?” you teased, and Thomas licked his lips.

“Forgive me, (Y/N), I couldn’t help myself.” He smiled at you and offered you a glass of wine. You loved how flustered he was getting already, almost breaking character. You decided to push it a bit farther to see how he would react. You took the glass from him and swirled it around before taking a sip.

“It’s quite alright, we’re married now, remember?” You folded your legs and sat up, faking a wince. “Oh, my feet are killing me. Thomas, would you be so kind as to rub my foot for me?” Deliberately slowly, you removed one shoe, revealing more of the stocking, and extended your leg into his lap. He gulped visibly, looking down at you with hooded eyes, and began to massage your foot with his skilled fingers. You leaned back on your hands and moaned - it did feel good, after all. This prompted Thomas to move his hands up higher on your leg, to your calf and the back of your knee. He was breathing faster, his jaw slack as he watched you attentively. Your chills were no longer only from the cold.

Finally you decided to stop torturing him and took your leg back. You could practically feel the relief washing over Thomas at this gesture. He reached into the basket after you thanked him and he sat a plate of fruit and various cheeses on the grass. Many of your favorites, he knew. The cold was starting to get to him after about an hour outside without his jacket, though, so you mutually decided to go inside once you had eaten.

After lunch, Thomas led you back into the house, through the entry room and up the stairs to a drawing room that looked as though it had belonged to Claude Monet, as it was covered in his paintings. He crossed the room and turned on an old gramophone, placing a wax cylinder in its proper place, and beautiful piano music drifted out of the horn that sounded like it was being played in the room with you. 

“I wanted to show you something I learned while I was in Vienna,” Thomas said proudly, and picked up a lit candle out of its holder on a desk. “The waltz is a dance of two partners instead of eight or sixteen,” he explained, and your heart started to race. You knew exactly what he was going to do and it took every bit of restraint you could muster not to squeal with excitement. “You dance together, face to face, chest to chest, to a count of four. Six simple steps.” He put his arm around your upper back, the candle in his opposite hand, and you took the hand with the candle in yours, grinning widely up at him. “It is said that the true test of the perfect waltz is for it to be so swift, so delicate, and so smooth, that a candle flame,” he nodded to the one clasped between your hands, “will not be extinguished in the hand of the lead dancer. That requires the perfect partner.”

You could have recited the last lines from memory.

“And you are mine,” he finished, gazing down at you lovingly. You nearly swooned at the sentiment, lost in the moment. When the right part of the song picked up, Thomas led you in wide circles around the drawing room in perfect time. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know the steps - he was an excellent leader and he didn’t let you trip or falter. Your head was spinning as you kept your eyes locked on his, laughing out loud when he spun you around particularly fast. It had been early in your relationship that you had asked him if he could teach you to dance, and he had put it off, insisting that he didn’t remember it well enough to lead anymore. 

_ Looks like he’s been practicing, _ you thought when he stopped in time with the music. You were both panting and smiling, and you laughed again when you looked at the candle still in Thomas’ hand and saw the flame was still lit. 

“That was amazing,” you whispered, and blew out the candle. All pretense forgotten, Thomas dropped the candle to the floor and leaned down to kiss you, moaning against your lips as his hands drifted over your back and settled on your hips. He pulled you against him tighter as if he was afraid you were going to run away. You wrapped your arms around his waist and deepened the kiss, your lips parting to allow him to taste you. 

When you pulled apart, your lipstick was smudged on his mouth. You smiled and reached up to wipe it off with your glove. Thomas closed his eyes as you ran your thumb over his bottom lip, and he covered your hand with his. The grip of his hand, the slight hiss in his breath - you could tell his desire to stay in character was warring with his need to abandon the scene and take you right there on the carpeted floor. You stood still, questioning exactly how much longer you were going to be able to maintain your role, because every touch from him stole a bit more of your control. 

“Let’s -” Thomas cleared his throat, opening his eyes slowly. “Let us go downstairs and sit before the fire so we can warm up,” he suggested, his voice shaking. You knew neither one of you needed warming up after dancing like that together, but he still had a part to play and you wanted to see what else he had in store for you.

Downstairs, you took in a detail you failed to notice the first time you saw the fireplace - a plush fur rug lay before the fire, just a few feet away, between two armchairs. You went over to it and bent down to feel its texture. 

“It’s so soft,” you marveled. When you looked over your shoulder Thomas was standing right behind you, watching you with dark eyes.

“It feels even better on bare skin,” he said, and he took your hand and helped you stand back up. Gently he held your hand up and pulled the tip of each finger on your glove loose so he could remove the whole thing at once, the silky material sliding easily over your heated skin. He discarded the glove into the armchair behind him and kissed the back of your hand, then your palm and wrist, his kisses growing sloppier and more desperate as he worked his way up the exposed skin of your forearm. Your head rolled back and he attacked it, licking and biting a path up the column of your throat to your ear. 

Your head was swimming with sensation - the heat, Thomas’ lips, his breath on your ear, his wandering hands, your pounding heart. Your hands trembled as they sought out the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. Thomas growled and his left hand moved up to feel for your hardened nipple through your dress, his right lowering to pull the back of your skirt up. You felt the roaring heat of the fire on the backs of your now-exposed legs, making you sigh into his hair. 

“This dress,” you whimpered, breathless. “It’s gotta go. Your shirt too. Pants.”

“In good time, my love,” Thomas said patiently. You tried to control your breathing as you watched him pull at the ribbons on the enclosure of the bodice of your dress. The two sides loosened enough for him to push them apart and down your shoulders, kissing each bit of skin that he exposed as he went. 

“I want to learn your body better than my own, my beautiful blushing bride,” Thomas murmured against the swell of your breasts, kissing them as he pushed your dress down far enough for it to fall to the floor. “I want you to know naught but my name and your own pleasure this night and every night of our lives.” 

He took a step back to look at you and groaned, palming himself over his straining trousers. You had chosen to forego a bra and underwear, so you were only in your fishnet stockings, the one black glove he had left on you, and the black ankle-high boots. You could feel the fire’s heat on every inch of your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat between your thighs.

“I could die this moment and be a happy man,” Thomas praised you.

You loosened the bobby pins from your hair and shook your head, letting your hair fall down to its full length. Thomas sighed at the sight of you, your naked body cast in warm light from the fire. “Where’s the fun in that?” you teased. 

Thomas growled again and ran his fingers through your hair, pulling you to him for a deep and intense kiss. You busied your hands with the button and zipper on his trousers as your tongues danced together and he hissed when your fingers touched his hardened flesh. Taking your bottom lip between his teeth, Thomas threaded his fingers through the holes in your fishnet stockings until he reached your center, where he found you soaking wet and ready for him. 

You groaned as his long and nimble fingers began exploring you, rotating your hips when he circled his thumb in a slow circle around your needy clit. He lowered his lips to a nipple and dragged the tip of his tongue in circles in time with his thumb. The combination set your head to spinning and made you ache for more. You spread your legs a bit wider to give him better access, bucking your hips against his hand for more friction, your hand continuing to stroke Thomas inside his trousers. His little expressions of pleasure coaxed you on until his legs began to twitch.

“Lie down, darling,” he growled against your collarbone. “I need to taste you.”

Before you did as he asked, you dragged your thumb across the tip of his cock, gathering the fluid seeping out there, and brought your thumb to your mouth to lick it off, looking Thomas square in the eye. You closed your eyes and moaned at the salty-sweet taste. He exhaled shakily. He never could resist a good show.

“Now,” he ordered you.

You lowered to your knees and leaned back until you could rest on your elbows, and stretched your legs out on the soft fur rug with one folded up to give him a good view.

“Patience is a virtue for a lady of your stature,” Thomas said, his tone both scolding and teasing. 

“What can I say,” you breathed, “I’ve never been much of what you’d call a lady.” Your one gloved hand drifted down your body, over the heated skin of your breasts and stomach to hover over your exposed sex. Thomas began to tug clumsily at his bowtie as you delved your silk-covered fingers into your core, first one finger, then two, slowly pumping in and out of you, soaking your glove. 

Once Thomas got the bowtie off, he began fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat, not taking his eyes off of you, likely cursing himself for the complicated clothing he chose. You curled your fingers upward inside of you, moaning deep, your chest heaving with each breath. Seeing him watch you like this, wanton and teasing him in front of the fire, was making you feel more bold than usual. You withdrew your fingers and examined the drenched material. Pinching the silk over the palm, you pulled the glove off and held it out for Thomas.

“You want a taste?” you asked, excited to see his reaction. “Here.” You tossed the glove at him and he caught it in midair, holding it up to his nose and inhaling deeply of its aroma. Growling, he tossed the glove into the fire and tore his waistcoat off the rest of the way, the ivory buttons flying everywhere. He made quick work of his button-down shirt and trousers and finally he bent down on the rug to kneel between your thighs.

Thomas sighed amorously and leaned over to lay his head down on your stomach. “I have awaited this day for months,” he said, smiling. “The planning… the scheduling… making everything perfect… It has all been worth it for this moment.” He kissed your stomach and trailed his kisses down to your thigh with each pause. Then he laced his fingers in your stockings and pulled, tearing the holes apart to fully expose your center to him. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You spared no more than a moment to mourn your favorite stockings before Thomas spread your lips apart with his fingers and dove right in, his tongue exploring you as if for the first time. He worked slowly and deliberately, tracing his flattened tongue in slow circles around your clit just as his thumb had before, his fingers gently sliding into your tight and swollen core. Your hands dug desperately into the fur beneath you as you tried to think of something clever to say but all you could think was  _ fuck his tongue feels so good, yes just like that, don’t stop dear god don’t stop,  _ and before you could warn him you were about to reach your peak you were grasping his hair to keep him steady, bucking your hips against his mouth as you came. He rode it out with you, his free hand stroking your outer thigh, gently slowing down as you relaxed. 

You laid there for a few moments until you could compose yourself, breathing heavily and nearly purring at the touch of Thomas’ lips on your stomach again. He kissed up your chest and throat and covered your body with his, long fingers lacing with yours as your legs parted willingly for him. Your eyes closed as you took in every sensation, each square inch of your body touching his, the feel of your fingers in his hair. Still in the afterglow of your first orgasm of the evening, you whined at each of Thomas’ kisses until they landed on your lips. 

“Open your eyes, darling,” he whispered. “I want to see you.” You did as he asked, finding his eyes fixed on yours with his eyebrow quirked up, wearing a soft smile. Thomas looked so sweet and romantic staring down at you, lit by the flickering firelight. You reached up and touched his warm cheek and he leaned into your hand.

“There you are,” he said, his voice reverent. He always knew how to make you submit to him with just a few words and a carefully selected tone. “Are you ready for me?” he asked, and you nodded slowly, watching his tongue trace his lower lip as he lined himself up and entered you with one long stroke of his hips. You moaned when he bottomed out inside of you and began his rhythm. 

Thomas treated your body like porcelain, carefully cradling you in his arms, thrusting into you slowly and deliberately, covering your exposed neck and chest in kisses as if to soothe you. You felt as though your heart may burst from your chest at this tender treatment, but as much as you loved it, you needed more. 

You raised your hips and locked your ankles around Thomas’ waist, gliding your hands down his back to grip his ass and pull him into you harder. He growled against your throat and laughed, gladly obliging your silent request. Thomas was suddenly like a man possessed; he took a handful of your hair and pulled your head back as he pounded into you, the sound of his flesh smacking against yours joining your mutual cries of pleasure. His teeth were bared in a wicked smile and his dark eyes were crazed and bright. Both of you were beginning to sweat from the heat of your coupling and the fire, and it was making Thomas’ hair twist into lovely black tendrils around his face.

With his free hand Thomas gripped your throat and squeezed gently, just enough. The smile on his lips curled higher as your voice croaked and groaned against his hand, the pleasure in your core building fast. “That’s it, my love,” he encouraged you, picking up to a blinding pace against you. “Let it carry you away. Let me see you come undone.”

You did exactly that, arching your back and squeezing Thomas with your legs as you clenched around him. After a moment he had to stop to delay his own release. You took the opportunity while he was distracted and pushed against him with your legs until you were able to roll him over to his back. He looked surprised but not displeased. He raised up on his elbows.

“What’s this?”

Standing carefully with trembling legs, you removed your boots and torn fishnets. Thomas watched you with curiosity as you pulled the legs of the stockings apart, ripping them into two pieces. 

“This,” you explained, smiling, stretching the material out to test their elasticity, “is for ruining my favorite tights.”

You knelt down next to him and pushed down on his chest to make him lie back down, then took one arm and tied half of the torn stockings around his wrist, then the other wrist with the other half. It took a little stretching but you were able to tie each wrist in turn to the legs of the impossibly heavy armchair. Thomas tested his bonds once you ensured they weren’t too tight, and you were pleased with the result - he could move his arms no more than a few inches above his head. 

Next, you searched his pile of clothing for the bowtie he took off first. Once you found it, you tied it around Thomas’ head to cover his eyes, tightening the knot close to the back. 

“Where exactly did you learn this, my lady?” he asked with a broad smile. “You certainly didn’t learn it at finishing school.” 

You leaned down over Thomas’ head and nipped at his earlobe, making him gasp slightly and buck his hips into the air. “You have no idea what girls teach each other, Thomas,” you growled into his ear. He moaned, his arms pulling against the restraints, and you chuckled.

Supporting yourself on your arms, you threw a leg over Thomas’ body until you were straddling his pelvis. You watched his jaw go slack as you rotated your hips against him instead of taking him inside of you. His cock slid along the length of your slit, back and forth against his belly, drawing small whimpers from him the faster you went.

“Fu - oh, please, (Y/N).  _ God _ , I need you.” Thomas’ plea was barely more than a whisper and he was trying to lift you up with his hips. Without a word you raised up on your knees and lowered down onto his length. You hoped you would never get used to the sound of him groaning, deep in his chest, lost in the pleasure only your body could give him.  

Overcome with a need to see his eyes, you leaned over and untied the makeshift blindfold, crashing your lips into his as soon as he could see. You began to circle your hips as you kissed along the line of his jaw and down his throat, and you allowed him to thrust his hips up into you. Bracing your hands on his chest, you encouraged him to go faster as you bounced on your knees. He always felt incredible at this angle, the head of his cock repeatedly catching that special spot inside of you that made you see stars. You were getting close very quickly, and if Thomas’ increasingly stuttered thrusts were any indication, so was he. 

You reached down between your bodies to touch yourself, your fingertips only needing to circle your aching clit a few times before you came again with a choked cry. Thomas clenched his teeth and moaned loudly, making the veins in his neck stick out with his effort to keep up with you.

“Baby, I’m gonna -” was all Thomas could muster before he stilled his hips and pulsed inside of you. You rode him through it, delighting in the look of total abandon on his face and the way he pulled against the stockings tied to his wrists. Once he was spent you rolled off of him and untied his hands, and he immediately took you in his arms, panting with exhaustion. You laid your head on his chest as he held you, noticing the fire was beginning to die out. You ran your fingers through his chest hair and wiped away some of the sweat that had pooled there. His heart was pounding beneath your hand and he was still sighing audibly in his afterglow. 

“Are you okay, Thomas?” you asked, knowing he was, but you wanted to hear him talk some more, and see if he was still playing a part. 

“Darling,” he breathed, and kissed the top of your head. “ _ Tom  _ is absolutely fantastic, and is far overdue for a nice, long shower if you’re interested in joining him.”

The two of you went back upstairs to the master suite and showered together, and you discovered that he was not, in fact, wearing a wig with his Thomas Sharpe ensemble and had dyed his hair, to your utmost surprise. 

“Luke is gonna kill you,” you teased him when you got out of the shower and watched him try to towel dry his hair. “For years you’ve been blonde or ginger. It’s your birthday and he’s going to absolutely murder you.”

“Whose idea did you think it was?” he asked with a wink. 

_ That man has more tricks up his sleeve than anyone gives him credit for, _ you thought, climbing beneath the covers of the king sized bed next to Tom. You snuggled up to him and your fatigue nearly had you passed out in less than a minute until Tom nudged you and you opened your eyes. Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the little velvet box he was holding up with his other hand, with a solitaire round diamond ring inside. You looked up at his face to see if he was serious, and he was smiling down at you, his eyes sparkling. Speechless, you stared at him blankly until he could say something. He raised his eyebrow at you.

“Marry me?”


End file.
